


Fear Is The Heart Of Love

by frafeyrac



Series: Revolutionary School [3]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Courfeyrac is a godsend, Enjolras has anger issues, Enjolras is very angry, Genderqueer Character, Genderqueer!Jehan - Freeform, Grammar School, Grantaire regrets lots of things, M/M, Montparnasse is a weenie, Montparnasse is also a fantastic boyfriend, Past Child Abuse, Schoolboys, Self Confidence Issues, adoptive families, also school uniforms yay, idk everyone is probably OOC, understanding Courfeyrac
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 07:26:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1156787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frafeyrac/pseuds/frafeyrac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 3 of Revolutionary School.</p><p>A work featuring Grammar School boys, awkward boners, a decade long feud and two oblivious fuckers who should just kiss and make up.</p><p>Or at least they should, if one of them didn't have a boyfriend already.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear Is The Heart Of Love

“I fucking hate him Combeferre, I swear to fuck I fucking hate that little prick!” He punches the wall for emphasis.

Combeferre just hums, he’s used to the blind rage. It’s become more amusing now, after years of listening to Enjolras rant his frustrations over the tiniest things that Grantaire does.

“I mean, who does he even fucking think he _is_? Sauntering round like he owns the fucking place! He doesn’t even own the right fucking uniform! Who does he think he is with the fucking green hoodie? It’s not fair to allow him to wear whatever the fuck he wants, no one else is!”

Courfeyrac holds up nine fingers, and Combeferre stifles a laugh.

“Enjolras, it’s probably because he’s had a bad upbringing. They want to make him feel at home.”

“Why the fuck are they sympathising with him? He broke my fucking nose Combeferre! This isn’t fucking funny, he broke my fucking nose!” Enjolras punches the wall again. “Fuck!”

“Count to ten, slowly.”

“I don’t need to count to fucking ten!”

“I think you do.” Combeferre raises an eyebrow, watching as the colour starts to leave his face and he eventually flops down onto the bed.

“He just – ugh – he irritates the living shit out of me.”

“We know.”

Enjolras sits up so he can see his friends sat on the floor.

“So I talked to Jehan today.” Courfeyrac’s cheeks are pink, and he pulls at a thread on the mat on the floor absentmindedly. 

“Did you finally confess your love for him?” Enjolras is being sarcastic. He’s always sarcastic when he’s irritated.

“Them.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s only one flower boy you’re in love with.” Enjolras snorts and Courf nudges him.

“Don’t call them that.”

“I never got what you saw in him.”

“You’re too in love with some dark haired artist to notice.” Combeferre mutters, and he’s thankful it goes unnoticed.

“Jehan’s nonbinary, genderqueer ugh fuck I think it was one of those terms. I can’t remember what they said. I fucked it up.” Courfeyrac tips himself backwards with a moan.

“What did you do?” Combeferre’s tone is that of a parent comforting a toddler.

“I fucked up my pronouns, I mixed up my zir’s and my xe’s and I’ve been trying so hard to get these right just for Jehan and I fucked it up and I think they think I’m totally patronising and the worst person ever.”

“I’m sure they don’t.”

Combeferre’s hand is on his knee, and Courfeyrac’s dark eyes meet his.

Enjolras watches them. There’s a calm bond between the two of them he’s never quite understood. Enjolras knows he’s all rage, and Courfeyrac is the only one who can calm him down and the only one who he trusts enough to call when he cries, who’s whole existence seems to rely on being in the centre and balancing everything so the world continues in a semi-perfect harmony, and Combeferre is the steady hand that guides him, that reminds him of the path he needs to be. Enjolras is the leader, he’ll be the first person who admits it. 

“I’m happy for you, you should ask them out on a date.” Enjolras cuts in, and Combeferre nods his approval.

“Maybe a week of inschool suspension with Grantaire has softened you up Enjolras.” Combeferre teases, and Enjolras sighs.

“Realistically, there is nothing Grantaire can actually offer me.”

“I think there is.” Courfeyrac winks and Enjolras sighs, rolling back onto the bed.

“Shut the fuck up Courf.”

Enjolras can’t help think of what Courfeyrac said, and it’s been keeping him up all night. Enjolras can feel his cock twitch at the thought of him pinned underneath him, how their hips had accidentally rubbed together and he so is totally not shoving his hand down his pyjama pants at the thought of the friction he felt, at the thought of Grantaire’s body moving against him in other ways. 

He bites down on his arm to stop himself from yelling. Grantaire is intoxicating, once he starts he can’t stop thinking about him. His mouth, his curls, his fucking baby blue eyes. He bucks into his hand, desperate for more friction, desperate for _Grantaire_.

He cries his name when he comes and he’s never felt so fucking ashamed of himself in his whole fucking life.

 

Enjolras has already suffered through a week of an inschool suspension and he tells himself he’s only got another three weeks to go through now and he tells himself it’s purely coincidence that he finds himself unable to tear his eyes away from the back of his head.

Every five minutes or so, Grantaire will flick his hair out of his eyes and then his hand musses the dark curls on the back of his head and he adjusts himself in his seat. Enjolras has never noticed he does this before, and he swallows when he sees those fingers tangle in dark hair. 

_I am so not imagining his fingers tangled in my hair._

_Fuck._

Enjolras would throw something at him, if it wasn’t for Javert and that friend of Montparnasse that was sharing the room with them. 

Everything about Grantaire irritates him in a way that really shouldn’t be humanly possible, from the way he slurps his water from the bottle to how he occasionally seems to swing on his chair. Enjolras has never had a person raise his hackles more, not even the people in CAHMS who tried to treat his anger or the friends his parents invited to their infamous dinner parties. 

He blamed the hardness between his legs on being frustrated, that it could easily have been Combeferre or Courfeyrac and it just so happened that Grantaire was the only person who seemed to be regularly in his thoughts for some reason or another (and it had always been like this, Enjolras had had an infatuation with the boy since they day they first met) and he thought he was coping, he _thought_ he was until Grantaire turned his head and swallowed, exposing the line of his neck.   
Enjolras raised his hand, he couldn’t help himself.

“Excuse me sir, can I go to the bathroom?”

 

Jehan found that lunchtimes were lonelier without Grantaire, it wasn’t that the only friend they had was in the form of a five foot nine amateur photographer-slash-painter, but that Grantaire was the only one of their many friends they felt comfortable around to let it all go. 

Which was why they found it strange that they were now sat next to Courfeyrac in one of the quiet benches of the lawn, and why they found himself undeniably, well, flirting.

Maybe it was Courfeyrac, and his warm eyes and sunny smile and how it made Jehan’s heart flutter and their head forget that they weren’t meant to talk to Courfeyrac, that Enjolras and Grantaire were fighting and as his right-hand friend they weren’t met to fraternise with the enemy. So of course, they’ve sat together on this secluded bench for the whole week of the inschool suspension.

But Courfeyrac made them giggle in a way not even Grantaire would manage, and it was the casual arm that was draped loosely enough over the back of the bench that was threatening to slip lower and lower until it was around their shoulders that was making Jehan blush. They were an embarrassment mentally kicking themselves.

“I swear Enjolras is in love with him.” Courfeyrac laughs and Jehan smiles.

“I think it’s a well-known fact Grantaire winds him up because he thinks it makes Enjolras look sexy.”

“I think it’s a well-known fact that Grantaire finds Enjolras equally as sexy.”

“What about you?”

“Do I think Enjolras is sexy?”

“I don’t know, do you?” Jehan grins and Courfeyrac puts his finger to the tip of their nose, and he’s obviously blushing.

“Well, the thing is I’ve had my eye on someone else.”

“Oh.” Jehan feels their heart fall in their chest. They should have expected this, and they know it. “Is it Bahorel? I can give you his number if it is, or if it’s Éponine I can tell you that she’s bus-“

“-shush, it’s you.” Courfeyrac smiles and leans in to kiss them. Jehan panics and their lips touch and then Jehan pulls backwards, eyes wide and their hands firmly on his chest, pushing him away.

“No, I’m sorry. I can’t.” Jehan shrinks away from him, and Courfeyrac extends his hands out towards them. He’s so gentle and kind and Jehan’s heart is breaking, but this feels too fast and they can feel the eyes of the other students. They run, and they can hear the cries of ‘fag’ and ‘queer’ and it stings and hurts and their eyes are wet and Grantaire is still in his goddamn suspension so they can’t even see him.

“Jehan!” Courfeyrac calls after them but he doesn’t chase them. Jehan’s never been so appreciative in their life.

 

Grantaire honestly doesn’t mind the inschool suspension, but it’s the afterschool detentions that he can’t stand. It makes him anxious, knowing that normally he’d be getting the bus home with Jehan who has a walk through the neighbourhood that doesn’t always look kindly upon them and he frets that Jehan might not get home safe. 

He’s surprised that today, it’s only him and Enjolras and Enjolras seems to make a strangled noise when Grantaire bends down to pick his book up off the floor after he tripped over a chair leg.

They’re meant to be covered by Gros today, but as usual he hasn’t turned up.

“Are you alright?” Grantaire asks, he’s lounging against one of the desks leafing through a book on Michelangelo. 

“I’m fine, why do you ask?” Enjolras snaps and Grantaire bits his lip, scowling.

“Nothing, I won’t ask again. Christ.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Shit, sorry. Are you super Christian or something?”

“I was raised Catholic. Just because you have little faith doesn’t mean we all do.”

“I have some faith.” Enjolras smirks at that, and Grantaire blushes when he realises he’s mocking him.

“In what?”

_You._

“Not in schoolboys who think if they get Mummy to pay enough someone’ll listen to them.”

That gets him, Enjolras surges forward and grips at Grantaire’s collar. He can only just breathe, but he can’t help but smile.

“If you’re going to choke me you better fuck me.” 

And it’s enough to send Enjolras over the edge. Before he realises what he’s doing he’s pushing Grantaire back against the desk and Grantaire’s legs split around his hips, he grips at his hair and _fuck has he dreamed abouts this_ and kisses him hard. Grantaire’s hands find his hips and there’s a demand in kissing Enjolras that Grantaire has never felt before. Even the taste of him is of control and it’s Enjolras who’s pulling at his hair. 

Grantaire shouldn’t be doing this. He has no right to be doing this. He feels his gut twist at the thought of betrayal and then _Enjolras bites that spot behind his ear_ and Grantaire’s whole body arches into his touch and Enjolras is rock hard against his thigh. 

“Jesus ,fuck Enjolras stop.”

“Are you sure?” He kisses his jaw, bites hard enough to leave a purple mark.

“I have a boyfriend!” Grantaire yells and he doesn’t mean to.

Enjolras springs back like he’s burnt and for the first time Grantaire looks at him and he doesn’t see a golden god but instead a schoolboy, face red with embarrassment and shame and eyes blown in lust.

“I forgot Grantaire, I’m sorry.”

“I fucking, I just.” Grantaire winds his hands into his hair and he pulls lightly. It brings him back to earth sometimes. “Enjolras, do you know you’ve just kissed me?”

“No, Grantaire. I thought I’d just asked you how your day was going.” He narrows his eyes and Grantaire is grateful sarcasm is not anyone’s strong point when they’re flushed and upset.

Grantaire goes back to his book, he has an essay he needs to start for Gros (not that he’ll mark it) but he wants to at least do well in art so Manon and Michel in some sort of gratitude for all they’ve done for him. 

Enjolras stays stuck to the wall he’d retreated to when Grantaire broke the kiss.

 

Montparnasse forgets that Grantaire had to stay after school when he bangs on the red door of the suburban address, eyes red and wrist cradled against his chest. He's in a state and he just wants someone warm and familiar. He wants the boy who's been through it all and who he's hopelessly in _love_ with. He bolts when the door is opened by Grantaire's adoptive mother.

 

“R? We need to talk.” Manon has kind eyes and she stands at the doorway to his bedroom, waiting for his consent to enter. He wishes more than ever she was his real mother.

“What about?” He raises his head for a second from his laptop, and Manon takes this as permission. She sits on the bed and he slides the laptop shut.

“We need to talk about Montparnasse.”

Grantaire freezes. She knows, she must know.

“Okay.” He swallows, trying to keep his voice flat.

Manon tilts her head, examining him.

“R, you know you will always be my son.”

“It doesn’t always feel like it.”

He knows those words hurt her, he knows Manon wishes she had been the woman who carried him.

“Let me see your scars. Have you been putting the things you were prescribed on them?”

He hasn’t, and he knows she’ll see he hasn’t. He unbuttons his shirt and exposes his shoulder. Manon doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react at all.

She’d been the one who found him, of course. Last year, when Grantaire had come out in a haze of alcohol and he’d been angry, he’d screamed and yelled and he’d told Michel he wanted to kill himself and Michel had told Manon to make sure Sabine was okay and Michel had sat up with him all night and Grantaire had woken up hungover and wishing even more that he was like them, that he was white and fair haired and had Manon’s deep brown eyes, not the bright blue he’d never wanted to inherit. If he could have inherited one thing of his fathers, it would have been his eyes.

Michel had been in contact with counsellors, of course he had, and Manon had told him he didn’t have to attend school that morning but he did anyway. He did and he came home with a bottle of chemicals and that night he tried to bleach his skin so he’d be white. He started with his shoulder, and then it had burned and Manon had rushed to his screaming and nearly carried him into the shower. The chemical had left him with third degree burns, and whilst his skin had turned white it had left a scar that covered his shoulder. It was ugly, there were scars from the skin grafts and the plastic surgeons hadn’t been able to clean it up to look much prettier than the original.

“I’m sorry, Manon.” 

It makes her cry, the scar. He knows she only looks at it to make sure it’s healing. It’s been a year and after infections and other complications he knows she’s concerned because she cares.

“I never want you to feel like that again.” Her voice is brittle, it shakes and Grantaire pulls her into a tight hug.

“I’ve fucked up Manon, I’ve ruined everything. I’m so so sorry, I don’t know why I did it, I just. I love Montparnasse and I don’t know why. Please, tell him I love him. Please.”

He’s not sure why he’s sobbing, but he is. He can only think of a demanding kiss and the betrayal and it tips a fragile balance over the edge. Manon holds him as he cries, kisses his hair. Her tears fall softly as she thinks of the boy she’s only ever wanted to see her as mother.

“I want ‘Parnasse. I want to see him, I want to love him in the way he should be loved. I can’t tell him what I’ve done, I can’t.”

“What have you done R?”

“I fell in love with Enjolras.”

**Author's Note:**

> ah gosh this is late I'm so so sorry!
> 
> yay family bonding time - I can totally understand if people don't like Manon and the rest of Grantaire's family but it is important we understand his relationship with them for several different reasons.
> 
> and yay combeferre and courfeyrac and jehan aw cuties.


End file.
